


But I Swear I Thought I Dreamed Her

by paladin_piper



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Begging, Cecilia Cousland - Freeform, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cullen Rutherford (for about two seconds), Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, F/M, King Alistair, King Alistair and Queen Cousland, Masturbation, Original Female Character - Freeform, Queen Cousland (Dragon Age), Sexual Fantasy, Templar Alistair (Dragon Age), True Love, Voyeurism (Slightly), pillow humping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 17:30:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18579217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paladin_piper/pseuds/paladin_piper
Summary: Nineteen-year-old Alistair can't get the memory of a certain noble girl he met years ago out of his mind, and attempts to release his need with a fantasy. Less than two years later, he learns that sometimes reality is better than a fantasy.





	But I Swear I Thought I Dreamed Her

**Author's Note:**

> Written during a Rite Fite with some friends, then finished up later to post on AO3. Shout out to the-dead-pixel on tumblr for beta'ing!  
> [Here are](https://66.media.tumblr.com/735cfea20951626565656b8fb7e58e5b/tumblr_pqe7jyz2wu1r1pf25o5_1280.jpg) some [pictures of my Warden,](https://66.media.tumblr.com/2c93d7884911044c9ebfdd4540e727dc/tumblr_pqe7jyz2wu1r1pf25o2_1280.jpg) Cecilia Cousland. Despite her having blue eyes in these screenshots, her eyes are actually light purple.  
> Enjoy! :)

_Thank the Maker Cullen is a heavy sleeper,_ Alistair thinks to himself, his words a half-prayer as he turns onto his back. His cock is heavy under his thin sleeping pants as he thinks about that noble girl -- _a Cousland?_ \-- with the dark hair and lavender eyes. It's been years since he saw her, she must have grown by now. Maybe she's married. _Maybe she's not._

 

It's silly to think of. A girl of noble descent would never be interested in _him_. A bastard-turned-failure of a Templar recruit. But he can't help but give his cock a testing squeeze before slipping his hand under the waistband. He swipes his thumb over the head, a bead of precome already forming, before he starts to stroke himself off. Alistair turns his head and buries it into the pillow, brown eyes squeezing closed as his mind wanders.

 

_She's bent over the side of his bed, wearing a lacy and form-fitting gown that would make the Chantry Mothers blush. She's grown into her broad shoulders, and her long black hair tumbles over them. He cups one of the globes of her ass, giving it a gentle squeeze before tracing a hand up her side. "Hurry, Templar Alistair," she whispers in a tone like honey, "we don't want to get caught."_

_He's not in his Templar uniform -- damn that bulky armor -- but instead in the clothes he wears around the tower: simple, light, except they’re garrish shades of yellow and purple. The Templars wouldn’t know style if it bit them in the rear._

_\-- This isn’t sexy, Alistair. Focus!_

_He pushes her onto the bed, sliding between her legs as he cups her face to kiss her. She tastes like peaches and cream, warm summer days, comfort and relief. She sighs into his mouth and he tips his head, deepening the kiss._

 

If any of his comrades knew he was getting off to the thought of simply _kissing_ a girl, they would never let him outlive it. Alistair bites the pillow to hold in a groan as he thinks of her tongue swirling around his.

 

_“My love,” she breathes against his lips. Her hand traces up her gown, her skirt catching under her delicate fingers. With the light fabric pulled up, she reveals a grand secret: no smalls. A wicked smirk crosses her face, and he can’t help but gasp. “I’ve been waiting for you to return to the castle for so long. These parties are so terribly droll without you.”_

 

He kicks off the thin sheets of his bed, but freezes when he hears Cullen stir. A blurry mumble of dreams is thankfully all that leaves him before Cullen turns back over and falls back to sleep. Alistair’s heart is racing as he pushes his sleep pants down a bit farther, grasping the full length of his cock as he strokes himself faster.

 

_She takes his hand and guides it up her leg, tossing her head back with a grin as he touches her skin for the first time. She’s smooth, soft, gentle, warm. Not a scar or blemish on her. “I need you, Alistair,” she whimpers, letting go of his wrist. “I want you to take me.”_

_His mouth is on hers as he slides a finger inside of her wetness. She’s reactive, gasping against his lips and burying a hand in his hair. “I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you, all those years ago at that party.” He slips in another finger, and her story is interrupted by a sharp whimper. “You looked so handsome in that Templar armor, but all I wanted to do was see you out of it.”_

 

“Oh, Maker,” Alistair moans, biting down harder on the thin pillow. He flicks his wrist and his toes curl, the precome dripping down and lubricating his sliding hand as he moves his hand faster.

 

_“Please,” she begs, her mouth against his ear now, tongue curving against the sensitive shell. “Take me. Make me yours.”_

_Her hands push down his pants, his cock springing free. She giggles at the sight, strands of black hair falling over her lavender eyes. Alistair tucks a few of the loose hairs back, and he can’t resist the urge to kiss her cheek._ Maker’s breath, _she’s all he’s ever wanted._

_He grasps her thighs, spreading them wide enough and pulling her closer all at once. Her head falls back against the plush pillows of his fantasy bed, black hair cascading around her square face like a crown. Alistair kisses her as he pushes himself into her, and she’s tight and wet and hot and--_

 

“ _Oooh,_ ” he moans, the heat of release building in his stomach. Alistair’s hand slips between his legs, and he gives his sack a soft squeeze. Sweat beads on his forehead, and his thin sleep shirt is already soaked through.

 

_“Alistair!” She cries out, the poise and noble nature of her voice lost in one fell swoop. Now she’s hungry, animalistic; her fingers tighten in his hair, and she pulls him in for a voracious and painful kiss. She sucks on his tongue, then on his bottom lip, claiming his mouth for her own. He rocks in and out of her, but his speed is too slow for what she wants; she growls, then bites down on his swollen lip. “Harder. I want to remember this in the morning. I want to remember_ you _in the morning.”_

_She’s noisy as he takes her, her body sinking into the mattress as he moves above her. She scratches her nails down his back, long legs wrapping around his waist. A loud moan escapes her, a mix of his name and her begging for more. Her tongue traces over his neck, and she bites a bruise into the tan skin. “So everyone knows what you did,” she growls. “Will you get in trouble for that?” Her growl turns into a giggle, light and girlish. When he sinks his cock into her again, her body tenses, a leg dropping from his waist onto the bed._

_“Oh,_ Alistair, _you’re so good at this,” her voice is breathy, and he can smell the heat coming off of her skin when he leans in to lavish her neck with kisses. He grabs her leg, pulling it back up around his waist. Her body twitches under him as he shifts the angle of his thrusts, and when he starts to snap his hips, she moans into his ear. Alistair can feel himself losing control with every movement, and from the way she’s tightening around his cock, she won’t last much longer either._

 

Alistair bucks into his hand, swallowing back a growl. Cullen might be a heavy sleeper, but screaming will still wake him up. Alistair might be a mess of hormones and horniness right now, but he’s not stupid. Rolling onto his stomach, he pushes his hips up just enough to shove the pillow that was under his head between his legs. He feels depraved and dirty, but when he thrusts his hips into the pillow for the first time he all but loses his mind. That growl he swallowed earlier comes up, pushed into the linens covering his mattress. He’s never done this before, but this fantasy of his is too blasted good for just his hand. He reaches in between his legs and fondles his sack, his heart pounding in his ears. Heat builds, and his thighs shake as he feels his climax approaching.

 

_She scratches her nails through his short hair, tugging his head up from her neck into a hot kiss. Their lips crash together and it’s wet and messy and so, so_ good. _He slides a hand between their bodies, and his middle finger finds her clit. He rubs in small circles and she cries out his name, panting and twitching and spasming under him. “I’m-- I-- Oh, yes,_ **Alistair!** ”

 

He spills with her in his fantasy, biting down on the palm of his free hand to hold back his cry. The taste of copper touches his tongue, and somehow that makes his orgasm all the more intense. Squeezing his thighs around the pillow to get the last drop of cum from his cock, he gives himself a moment to gather his thoughts before rolling onto his back once more. His pants are lost somewhere on the bed and he doesn’t bother to find them. Pulling the sheets up to his chest, he sighs and chucks his pillow against the wall that meets his bed. _By the Void, I’ll need to go get a new one tomorrow,_ he thinks to himself, looking straight up at the brick ceiling above his head. His eyes are heavy, and he rubs at them, ready to submit himself to the Fade. His palm aches, and he make a mental note to get a healing salve along with the pillow.

 

“ _Aagh, d-demons!_ ” Cullen shoots up in the bed across the room from him. His hair is as wild as his eyes, and Alistair sighs. Cullen does this a lot, talking and having fits in his sleep. Alistair was assigned to share a room with him because he’s the only one who can sleep through them.

 

“Rutherford, it’s just your dreams. No demons here, fortunately. Think of something nice instead, like… bunny rabbits!” His voice is heavy, and he hopes Cullen thinks it’s because he was asleep.

 

“ _Nngh… bunnies.”_ Dropping his head back onto his pillow, Cullen lets out a quiet snore, and Alistair sighs again, settling back into bed. Sleep comes quicker this time, and as Alistair slips into the Fade, a familiar scene reemerges in his mind.

 

_She settles against his chest, curled up like a cat. His arms are tight around her, and he intends to keep her as close as he can for as long as time permits._

_“That was incredible, you know?” She muses, and he smoothes down her messy hair with a heavy palm and a kiss. “I should have been back at court fifteen minutes ago. I wonder if they noticed my absence?”_

_Her giggles are infectious, and Alistair’s kiss drags down to her forehead. “I’m sure they heard it, my dear.”_

_“A noblewoman and a Templar -- quite the scandal.” Her lips trace over his jawline. “But forget them. All I want is you, right now and forevermore.”_

_Alistair swallows roughly, tilting her head up with a finger under her chin. “Really?”_

_Her giggles return, and she sits up just enough to kiss him. Her fingers trace over his face, and when she smiles down at him, Alistair sees love and softness in her eyes. “Really really.”_

_“Well, I must be the luckiest man in Thedas,” he says, and her giggles turn into a hard laugh._

_“And I the luckiest woman. But let us not debate luck. I’m tired, and they won’t start looking for me for another hour or so.” She yawns, settling her head back against his chest. Their hands slip together, and he raises them to his lips to kiss them._

_“Will I ever see you again?”_

_She tilts her head up, a sweet smile on her lips. “The sooner you sleep, the sooner you’ll see me again. I promise.”_

 

Her promise came true, but not until a few years later. Alistair was no longer a Templar: he now wore the armor of a Grey Warden. They met as she became one, and he learned her name -- _Cecilia Cousland, what a beautiful name for a beautiful woman_ \-- but his teenage fantasies were the last thing on his mind at the moment. The promise came true in more ways than he expected: they fell into bed in their slimy little camp in the middle of nowhere after a loving courtship.

 

Embarrassingly, it took him until they were _engaged,_ ready to become King and Queen of Ferelden ( _Maker, what on earth?_ ) for him to make the connection as to _why_ those curves felt so familiar under his hands.

 

“You’re the girl,” Alistair says, sitting up in bed one night. Cecilia is spread out next to him, pulling her black hair into a braid that extends well past her waist. She giggles at his words, then leans in to kiss his cheek.

 

“I _am_ a girl, yes. Did you just realize that?” Cecilia teases, letting go of her braid to roll into his arms. Her naked form fits perfectly against his, and she presses a lazy kiss to his collarbone. “Otherwise, we might need to have a talk.”

 

“No, no, not like _that._ ” He moves them in a simple motion, and her back is pressed against the mattress. Alistair is careful as he kisses to the left side of her jawline: a scar adorns it now, one that’s still sensitive and raw. Cecilia earned it as she landed the final blow on the Archdemon. His lips drag down her neck as he continues to speak, and he dampens her skin with long, languid kisses every few words.

 

“We met, years ago. At a party. Something in this castle, I think, for King Maric. I was a Templar-recruit, you were wearing a dark blue dress with this pretty black lace… cover-thingy… over it. We both reached for a drink and—“

 

“I asked you if you were mute and made fun of your rank.” She gasps, her eyes wide as she makes the connection. “I was in a bad mood that night; I had gotten in a fight with Mother because she wanted me to dance with Thomas Howe and I refused.”

 

“To be fair, I didn’t do myself any favors by staring at you like a fish out of water.” Alistair mimics the face he made at her all those years ago, and Cecilia laughs.

 

“You… come here.”

 

A hand in his hair pulls him up from her chest, and Alistair slides between her legs as she kisses him. She doesn’t taste like peaches and cream, like in his fantasy: no, the _real_ Cecilia is so much better than he ever could have imagined. She tastes like mint and berries, and her skin is soft, but she’s no delicate flower. He’s memorized every scar on her body by now with his hands and mouth. A little twisted mass of skin on her shoulder from a Darkspawn arrow when they were overrun in the Tower of Ishal. Lines on her shield arm from when her shield wasn’t enough to block the incoming blows. A long line that runs down her right outer thigh from a Shriek that overran their camp one night. And, of course, the one on her jaw, the one she wore like a badge of honor.

 

Everything about her, every little imperfection and perfection (oh, _Maker,_ there was so much about her that was perfection), makes Alistair love her even more. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her flush against him. When he looks into her eyes, their foreheads pressed together, and Alistair can’t help but smile. Cecilia traces her hands over his shoulders, fingering the edge a scar that runs down the expanse of his back (he earned it in a bad training accident he doesn’t like to remember, but he swears it was the only time the Templars ever showed any concern for him).

 

“Why are you so happy?” She teases, nipping his bottom lip ever so gently.

 

“Because I can’t believe you’re real. Maker’s breath, have I told you how beautiful you are recently?”

 

A blush crosses her pale cheeks, and Cecilia looks away with a shy smile.

 

“I mean it, you know. I’m so happy you’re real.”

 

“ _Real?_ ” Cecilia questions, an eyebrow raised.

 

“Oh— I— Uh—“ Alistair stammers hard, rubbing the back of his neck as a heavy heat covers his face. An awkward laugh escapes him, and this time he’s the one who can’t meet the other’s eyes. Images of that night, him releasing himself into his pillow at the thought of her, flash through his mind. “I— you know—“

 

A giggle. Then a laugh. Cecilia buries her face in a hand as her body shakes under him at the realization. “Alistair Theirin, did you — _Maker_ , what was the phrase Oghren used — twirl your pike to the thought of me?” Alistair’s face twists up with disgust, but he can’t hide the fact that she’s right.

 

A finger curves under his chin and Cecilia turns Alistair’s head so they’re eye to eye, lips brushing ever so gently while she whispers to him. “What did you imagine, dear Alistair? You bending me over your bed? Me, on my knees in front of you, begging for you to touch me? What did you want? Did you want to hear me moan?”

 

“Maker,” Alistair is still caught off-guard by the way Cecilia purrs to him in bed. As if on cue, Cecilia lets out a high-pitched whimper, and she uses her free-hand to take his wrist and make him cup one of her round breasts.

 

He flicks his thumb over her nipple, and the whimper melds into a gasp. “Tell me what you thought of,” Cecilia says, no, _demands,_ and Alistair can never deny his Queen.

 

“I… it started with kissing you. And you saying how badly you wanted me. Touching you…” He kisses her parted lips, tongue darting into her mouth and swirling against her own. He slides his hands down her sides, stopping when he reaches her slender hips. “You, ah, weren’t wearing any smalls under your dress.”

 

“What a coincidence — I’m not wearing any smalls now.” They share a chuckle, and Alistair presses a kiss to the tip of her nose.

 

“Then I touched you… _more.”_ He raises his eyebrows for emphasis, and Cecilia shakes her head with a smile.

 

“What do you mean?” She asks, and it’s not a question of innocence — Cecilia loves hearing Alistair speak words of filth in bed, and it always makes him flush. His Templar training instilled politeness and a shy gentlemanliness in it, and those were hard habits to break.

 

“I… oh, Cece, a fantasy is just that: a fantasy. I’m real, you’re real, and you’re right here. I don’t need to make my fantasy a reality when I have you. Let me just love you like I want to, because the real you is better than any fantasy I’ve ever had.”

 

His sincerity surprises her, and a rosy red coats Cecilia’s porcelain cheeks. She leans up to kiss him, sweet and soft, then settles back against the pillows. “You’re unlike any man I’ve ever known, you know that?” She says with a smile as he starts to slide down the bed. “You’re so kind and honest, caring and loving and— _oh!_ ”

 

The feeling of Alistair swiping his tongue against her clit turns her words into a squeak, and Cecilia looks down at him with a smile complimenting her lavender eyes. “You are _awful,_ Alistair. And if you stop, I’ll strangle you with my thighs.” For emphasis, Cecilia wraps her legs around the sides of his head and gives a gentle squeeze.

 

“What a way to die — between the legs of the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known,” he croons with a smirk before dipping his head back down.

 

He traces the tip of his tongue against her slit, gathering her juices on his tongue and humming at the taste. Salty and ripe, he savors her for a moment before moving back up, his tongue gliding across her folds. Cecilia’s moans fill the room as Alistair swirls his tongue around her clit, then he gives it a nice, long suck.

 

Cecilia writhes against the sheets, a hand burying itself in Alistair’s hair. “Touch yourself,” she pleads, looking down at him through her lashes. “I want to watch you.” She’s seen him bring himself to his release before, but something about the way she begged for it makes a spark explode at the base of Alistair’s spine. Lifting his hips just enough, Alistair wraps a fist around his hanging cock and pumps it furiously as he pushes his tongue inside of Cecilia.

 

Her moans rip through the air as she grinds against his face, soaking his chin and nose with her arousal. Alistair flicks his wrist and moans into Cecilia, and he can feel her shudder against his mouth.

 

“Oh, sweet heavenly Andraste,” Cecilia babbles, grasping at his hair as he continues to go down on her. “I thought about you too. I did. First time I ever took myself on my own fingers I thought about you. I didn’t even know your name, but I thought about you. You’d bend me over behind a tree on the battlements during training, pull my hair and we’d pray we wouldn’t get caught.” Her admission only makes him want her more, and Alistair shifts his weight so he can push his middle finger inside of her as he deluges her clit with attention. She’s soaked, a small pool of need staining the cornflower-blue sheets beneath her. He can feel himself getting close as well, a fire burning in his stomach as he slides his hand roughly up and down his cock. The thought of her getting herself off to him makes him bristle with desire, and he makes a mental note to find a day when the troops aren’t training to recreate her confession.

 

“Alistair, oh, _Alistair,”_ her legs squeeze around his head, and he knows that look in her eyes when their gazes meet. “I’m— _I’m—_ “

 

Heavy panting, and then a loud cry escapes Cecilia. Alistair curves his finger, swirling that bundle of nerves with the pad of his digit as he sucks on her clit again. A moment later and Cecilia tumbles over the edge, gushing with her orgasm. That cry turns into a ripping roar, one fit for a warrior of her magnitude, and Alistair happily laps up her juices as her body shakes and twitches. Seeing her come apart like this is all that Alistair needs, and he presses his face into her thighs and bites down as he releases into his palm. Cecilia whimpers at the sight, listening to him groan her name into her now-bruised skin as he rocks through his orgasm.

 

They stay like that, frozen in time for a moment, before a nerve in Alistair’s back twitches and he has to sit up to relieve the pain. He dramatically wipes his face with his clean hand, putting on a fake pout and a whimper. “My face is all _pruuuuny._ ” Cecilia giggles at the dragged out word, then takes his dirty hand by the wrist and cleans it with her tongue. The feeling of her dragging her tongue over his skin, watching her lazily lap up his seed the same way he did to her moments ago, has his cock stirring for a second round.

 

When the last of his cum is gone, Cecilia drops his hand and puts out her arms. Alistair is all too eager to fall into them, collapsing on top of her in a heap of giggles. They share a noisy kiss, and then Alistair rolls off of her and takes her into his arms. “ _Iiiiiii_ love you,” he sings with a grin, then he leans in and kisses her temple, his voice dropping. “I love you so much, Cecilia Geneva Grace—“

 

“If you try to list all of my middle names, we’ll never sleep,” she teases, twisting her head and catching his lips in a quick kiss. “And I love you too, Alistair. More than you can ever imagine.”

 

“I can imagine quite a bit,” he teases, kissing her once more before settling back into the overstuffed pillows of their oversized bed.

 

“We’ll see just how much you can imagine in the morning, my love,” Cecilia teases right back, stroking her hand against his half-hard cock for only a moment before resting her hand back on his broad chest. “But we both need our rest. Sleep, my dear. I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

“Oh, I can’t _wait_ for the morning.” They share one last kiss before succumbing to the Fade, smiles on both of their faces as pleasant dreams lead them into an even more pleasant morning.


End file.
